


Heart of Gold

by shions_heart



Series: The Heart of Nekoma [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: (really the tag Slow Burn could apply for the whole series at this point), Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Major Character Injury, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-20
Updated: 2015-10-20
Packaged: 2018-04-27 06:10:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5036860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shions_heart/pseuds/shions_heart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kenma is finally rescued from his basement prison by Kuroo and his friends, Bokuto and Akaashi. However the escape brings with it painful consequences, and Kenma is tested in a way he never thought he would be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heart of Gold

**Author's Note:**

> Please read the first part of the series "Bleeding Heart" first so you know what's going on! This is not a stand-alone work!

Kenma sits huddled at the head of his large, four-poster bed, surrounded by downy-feather pillows covered in satin cases. The comforter itself is also fluffy and warm, and he’s pulled it up around him, making a one-man fort, though the top is open so he can breathe. There’s a fire flickering in the fireplace across from him, this one giving off heat as the warm summer months have given way to the chill of winter.

The stone walls are covered with tapestries to keep in the warmth, and each one depicts one of the king’s mighty victories with the help of the “Heart of Nekoma,” a glowing amber stone taking the place of Kenma’s true form, as is tradition. Nobody in Nekoma knows his identity. They all believe him to be a simple rock infused with magic that the king wields in protection of Nekoma. Nobody knows about the young man living beneath the castle in a basement big enough for only one.

It’s been a little over four months since he was taken from the small village on the outskirts of Nekoma, leaving behind the first person to ever treat him as human and not an object of power or a weapon. Kenma still whispers his name sometimes, in the dark of the night before he falls asleep, almost as though saying it over and over will somehow conjure the man from thin air to land in bed beside him.

“Kuroo Tetsurou.”

In the scrying glass Kenma holds in both hands, the orange head of Hinata Shouyou lifts from where he’d had it bent over a large book. Behind him, Kenma can see rows of bookshelves, and he knows his friend is in the massive library set within the palace of Karasuno where he works. He’s studying to become a wizard, along with a student Shouyou enjoys complaining about. Kenma’s only seen him once or twice in the background of the glass, a dark-haired young man with a seemingly permanent scowl on his face. Kageyama Tobio is his name, and Kenma suspects that Shouyou doesn’t hate him as much as he says he does, considering the time he takes out of his day just to grumble about him.

It sometimes bothers Kenma, with a sharp prick of something akin to jealousy deep within his chest, but lately the irritation doesn’t hit him as strongly when Shouyou talks endlessly about Kageyama. Not since Kuroo Tetsurou came into his life.

“What was that you said? Sorry, I think I dozed off,” Shouyou says now around a yawn.

“Nothing,” Kenma says, shaking his head and willing the heat in his cheeks and ears to cool. “Shouldn’t you be studying?”

Shouyou sighs, flopping over his book with a soft whine. “It’s so boring though! All about herbs and rocks and things. I want to practice _real_ magic, not just read about how to make potions and healing poultices.”

“Those are important too though,” Kenma points out.

Shouyou wrinkles his nose, and Kenma notices a smear of ink on the bridge of it. He probably scratched it with ink-stained fingers. It’s cute, and Kenma feels that familiar sting in his chest, before reminding himself that it’s unlikely he’ll ever see Shouyou in person so there’s no use in pining. Besides, once Kuroo comes to rescue him, he won’t need to pine anymore for anyone. He’ll have that companionship that he craves.

If Kuroo comes to rescue him.

“Are you okay?” Shouyou asks, and his face suddenly appears very close in the glass, as he peers into his own, trying to get a better look at Kenma.

Kenma leans away instinctively, allowing his hair to swing forward to hide his expression. “I’m fine,” he says, not sure what good it would do to complain about how long it’s taking Kuroo to find him again. As he left the village, Kenma was confident that Kuroo would hasten to his rescue. But as the months have gone by, Kenma’s starting to doubt.

“My guard is coming with my dinner, so I should go,” Kenma says then, focusing once more on Shouyou’s face, but trying to ignore the worry there. “Good luck with your studies.”

Shouyou makes a face. “Thanks, I guess. Call on me later, okay?”

Kenma nods and moves his hand over the glass, turning it opaque. He’s only just stuffed it under one of his pillows, when the door unlocks and his long-legged guard steps into the room, carrying a tray of soup and bread.

“Good evening Kenma-san,” the new guard, Haiba Lev, says liltingly as he steps over to place the tray on the table beside the bed. “I hope you’re doing well today!”

Kenma just blinks at him. He misses Mori, who was much smaller and less loud than Lev, but the guard had been brutally injured during Kenma’s initial capturing by Shiratorizawa and is still recovering in the hospital. He inquires about his old guard sometimes, but nobody seems to want to take the time to give him answer.

As he peers up at Lev though, who only just started working as his guard a couple weeks ago, he wonders if he can convince him to talk.

“Do you know anything about Yaku Morisuke’s condition?” he asks, as he crawls out of his fort to reach the soup. He takes the bread to dunk into it, before nibbling on the soaked bit.

“Yaku-san?” Lev asks, tilting his head. “I think he’s almost better.” He glances toward the fire, his eyes lighting up. “You have the flames so low, Kenma-san! No wonder you’re swaddled in blankets and pillows. I’ll make them bigger for you.”

“No, wait!” Kenma slips off the bed, wincing only slightly as his bare feet come in contact with the cold stone not covered by the circular rug that lies across most of the room. He hurries over but not in time to stop Lev from grabbing the bellows and shooting a large gust of air at the fire.

The flames shoot up wildly, snaking out past the grate and nearly singing the front of Lev’s jerkin. He leaps back, knocking into Kenma who’d come up behind him, sending them both to the ground.

“Kenma-san!” he exclaims, quickly getting off Kenma and kneeling beside him. He places his hands on his knees, leaning forward worriedly to study Kenma’s face.

Kenma’s head is spinning from making contact with the floor. He rubs at it with a wince, before gingerly touching his nose, which is also stinging; thanks to Lev’s elbow jabbing it. He can feel warmth seeping from it, and when he sticks out his tongue, he tastes blood.

“Kenma-san, I’m so sorry!” Lev shouts, hastily pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket and placing it over Kenma’s nose. He starts to pinch it, but Kenma brushes him off, doing it himself.

“You’re too loud, Lev,” he says, his voice coming out nasally and strange. He sighs through his mouth, really hoping Mori will return to work soon. He’s not sure how much more of Lev’s clumsiness he can take. Already he’s torn Kenma’s sheets when taking them to the wash, and he’s upturned the chamber pot twice just from tripping over it. The smell didn’t leave the basement for days, and Kenma had issued a formal complaint to the king, though his advisor said that seeing as they were understaffed Kenma would have to deal with Lev until Mori could take his position once more.

Before Lev can make a reply, a loud explosion shakes the walls of the basement. Kenma’s heart leaps in his chest, and he scrambles to his feet. His hand falls away from his nose, the bloody handkerchief falling from his loose grasp to flutter to the floor. He stares at the door, hearing shrieks followed by loud cracks of sound that he recognizes now as fireworks.

Lev stands quickly as well, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste. He draws the short sword at his side, but Kenma’s already moving toward the door. Lev crosses over to block his way, his long legs allowing him to reach the door before Kenma can.

“Please, Kenma-san, you can’t go outside. It’s not safe!”

Kenma opens his mouth to protest, but the door opens and a figure burst in, stumbling a bit before catching himself against the wall. He lifts his head, revealing wide gold eyes and a head full of wild black and gray hair. Lev jumps back, raising his sword, but Kenma swiftly steps between them.

“Koutarou?”

“Kenma!” Bokuto exclaims happily. “I found you!” 

“Kenma-san? Who is this? What’s going on?” Lev asks, whipping his head back and forth as he struggles to understand.

Kenma’s heart has leapt into his throat, and he can feel the rushing of his blood in his ears. If Bokuto is here, that means . . .

“Come on, we have to go quickly! The fireworks won’t last forever, and then they’ll find Akaashi and Tetsu.”

Kenma’s wavers slightly on his feet. Tetsu. Tetsurou. Kuroo. He’s here. He came to find him. He came to find him, and he’s here right now. Kenma wants to move forward, but he finds his feet sticking to the floor, and his knees feel weak. He sinks to the floor to sit, and Bokuto jumps forward to try to catch him, but Lev is there with his sword outstretched, and Bokuto warily backs away.

“Kenma-san? You need to tell me what is happening, please,” Lev says, looking down at Kenma worriedly.

“Lev,” Kenma says, his voice sounding weak even to him. “You need to let me go with him.”

Lev startles and takes a step back. “What? No! I can’t do that. It’s my job to protect you.”

Kenma shakes his head, moving to stand slowly. Now that the shock has worn off, he feels the compulsion to go burning deep within his veins. His skin itches, and he knows he needs to leave. He needs to get out. To run away and be free. It’s his only chance at the normal life he only briefly tasted with Kuroo back at his village.

“It’s your job to keep me locked in a cage,” he says as calmly as he can, though his fingers are trembling. He clenches them into fists and hides them behind his back. “I want to go with him. I need to go with him.” He looks over at Bokuto, who gives him an encouraging smile and two thumbs up. Kenma feels his lips twitch in response, before he turns his gaze back to Lev, who still looks confused and uncertain.

“Y-Yaku-san will be mad . . .” he says hesitantly.

“Tell him you did everything you could to stop them,” Kenma says, moving now to his wardrobe to draw out some pants and shoes. He pulls them on quickly, along with a long coat. He grabs his scrying glass from beneath the pillows and stuffs it in his coat pocket, before grabbing the rest of his bread and stuffing it into his mouth. This makes it difficult to breathe, considering his nose is still clogged with dried blood, but he manages to swallow it down swiftly enough without choking.

Lev is still lingering by the door when he turns around, that worried look still twisting his features.

Sighing softly, Kenma turns to Bokuto. “Knock him out.”

Bokuto blinks, as Lev starts. “Uh, what?”

“We’ll need to knock him out so it looks like he put up a fight. I don’t have the strength, and besides he’s too tall.”

Lev eyes Bokuto warily. “Wait, wait, um, I can lie about it!”

“You’re a terrible liar,” Kenma says, stepping toward the door.

Bokuto gives Lev an apologetic look, before lifting his hand and clouting him over the head before the young guard can protest further. Lev drops to the floor without a sound, and Bokuto grimaces.

“I hope I didn’t hit him too hard,” he says.

Kenma kneels to check Lev’s pulse. It throbs steadily under his fingers. He stands, turning toward the door.

“He’ll live.”

Bokuto still looks uncomfortable, but Kenma’s already dismissed Lev from his mind. His sole focus in that moment is to find Kuroo. He steps out of the basement, heading directly toward the stairs that will lead to the ground floor of the palace. Bokuto follows close behind, and once they’ve emerged onto the palace grounds, he gestures for Kenma to follow him.

“We split up and Tetsu and Akaashi are waiting for us with our getaway cart.”

Kenma nods, following Bokuto quickly. He’s not used to physical activity, so his lungs begin to burn after only a few minutes, but he pushes through, not about to fall behind or give up when freedom is so close. He can hear the clanging of the alarm bells in the distance, and when they reach the courtyard, he can see smoke rising from the west wing of the palace where the signal flares and fireworks for festivals are usually stored. The shouts of men hastening to put out the fire reach them, but Bokuto navigates well, skirting around sentries and avoiding any run-ins with the palace guards. Kenma is fascinated and wonders if Bokuto has any special abilities of his own, a sort of sixth sense that lets him know when people are close by. But he files that question away to ask later. For now, he concentrates on keeping up.

Bokuto manages to find the correct exit and they slip through the side door in the palace wall, which opens into a larger courtyard that surrounds the palace. There’s still the outer wall beyond that, but for now Kenma focuses on the two men standing on a cart attached to two horses. He recognizes Akaashi, Bokuto’s friend, who stands near the back of the cart, a bow in his hands and a quiver of arrows on his back. The bow is already strung and an arrow is notched on the string, but he stands with it loose by his side, and nods to the two of them as they approach.

“Akaashi! Look! I found him! All by myself too!” Bokuto says happily, leaping onto the cart and stepping close to his friend.

Akaashi nods. “I see,” he says mildly. “Very impressive.”

Despite the lack of inflection in his tone, Bokuto beams, before settling in at the front of the cart to take the reins. Kuroo’s there as well, and when Kenma catches sight of him, leaning down with his hand outstretched, a faint smirk playing about his lips, he feels his heart stop.

“Well? Don’t tell me I risked my life to come here and save you only to have you not get into the cart,” he says, as Kenma continues to stand there, staring up at Kuroo with a blank expression.

Kenma’s heart jumpstarts back into rhythm, though it’s quick and disjointed. Biting his lip, Kenma reaches to take Kuroo’s hand, allowing him to pull him into the cart. He stumbles over the lip, but Kuroo catches him in his arms before he can fall, and Kenma can feel the wild pounding of his heart that his cool demeanor belies. His arms linger around Kenma perhaps a second longer than they need to, before Kuroo is turning away and slapping his hand against Bokuto’s shoulder.

“Come on, let’s get out of here before they notice what that explosion really was.”

Bokuto nods and snaps the reins. The horses kick in response but then start forward at a brisk trot, heading for the front gates that are nearly always open to allow for commoners to seek audiences with the king. Kuroo gestures for Kenma to get down, so he does, crouching low on the floor of the cart. Akaashi stands over him protectively, his eyes searching the walls for any sign of hostile movement, his fingers still resting patiently against his bow.

Kenma can feel his heart thudding against his ribcage, causing it to ache. There’s a deep-seated panic that grows heavier as they draw closer to the gates, a sense that something can go wrong at any moment. He’s so close to freedom, but that doesn’t mean he still can’t be caught and brought back. It happened before, and he doubts he’ll be allowed to leave again so easily.

This prediction is made true when they reach the gates and the sentries posted there catch sight of them and call out for them to halt. Bokuto slows automatically, but Kuroo shakes his head and squeezes his shoulder.

“Keep going,” he shouts over the sound of the horses’ hooves clattering against the cobbled pathway.

“Halt!” the sentries cry again, and then there’s a _whiz_ and _thud_ as an arrow burrows itself in the wood by Kenma’s head.

He squeaks involuntarily, and Kuroo is immediately at his side, wrapping his arm around his shoulders and shielding him with his body.

“Akaashi!” he cries, lifting his head to look at his companion.

Akaashi nods grimly and finally lifts his bow, allowing the arrow to fly free. It finds its mark, one of the sentries crying out in pain, and he quickly fits another arrow to the bow. Bokuto urges the horses to go faster, as the arrows continue to descend around them. Kenma ducks his head, covering it with his hands, huddling beneath Kuroo’s chest. He hears a soft grunt and looks up in time to see Kuroo’s face smooth after a grimace of pain.

“I’m fine,” he assures Kenma, but the smile he gives him is pained.

Kenma chews on his lip until it feels raw, and his body trembles with nerves. He doesn’t relax, even when they make it out of range of the sentries and enter the city. Bokuto doesn’t slow the cart until they reach the outskirts, however, and the forest of trees surrounding the capital engulf them, hiding them more effectively than groups of houses would.

Bokuto stops the horses and they stand quivering, soaked with foam, breathing heavily. He twists in his seat to look back at his companions, his eyes wide.

“Is everyone okay? Akaashi?!”

Akaashi gives Bokuto a look that could be described as withering; only it’s difficult to tell given its placidity.

“I’m fine. But Kuroo-san was hit.”

Bokuto scrambles up over the front seat of the cart, falling heavily beside Kuroo to lift him off Kenma. “Tetsu?!” he exclaims worriedly, looking over Kuroo from head to toe.

Kenma straightens slowly, able to see immediately the shaft of an arrow protruding from the back of his thigh right above the knee. His chest clenches, and he sits back against the seat of the cart, pulling the cuffs of his coat sleeves up over his hands to grip them tightly in his fists. He brings his knees to his chest, watching as Akaashi kneels beside Kuroo to inspect the wound. Bokuto’s arms wrap tightly around Kuroo’s torso to hug him close.

“I don’t think it hit any major arteries,” Akaashi says. “But we’re going to need to stop somewhere to clean and dress it, since the medical supplies we brought with us won’t be sufficient for a wound this size.”

“But he’s going to be okay, right?” Bokuto asks desperately, his wide eyes searching Akaashi’s heavy-lidded ones frantically.

“Yes, Bokuto-san, he should be fine,” Akaashi says.

Bokuto huffs a loud sigh of relief, but the knot in Kenma’s stomach doesn’t release.

 

They manage to find a tavern and inn by the side of the road, and once the innkeeper sees Kuroo’s state, he quickly ushers them into a back room, allowing them to set Kuroo on the table there to inspect the wound more closely. He brings them some whiskey and linen bandages, and Akaashi holds his hand out to Bokuto for a knife.

“A knife?!” Bokuto exclaims, still hovering close to the table by Kuroo’s head. Kuroo’s lying on his side, and Bokuto has his hand on his friend’s shoulder.

Kenma lingers back by the wall, pulling the collar of his coat up around his ears, as he watches Kuroo’s face. His eyes are closed, and his face looks pale. Kenma wants to step forward, to say something, or do something, but he knows he can do nothing to help, so he remains where he is, a sick feeling twisting through his stomach and chest.

“I need to get the arrowhead out of his thigh,” Akaashi explains calmly, still holding his hand out.

“So you’re going to cut it out of him?!” Bokuto cries, clutching Kuroo tighter.

“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi says, sharper than before. “We need to get it out before it grows infected. Please give me your knife.”

Bokuto slowly pulls his knife out of the sheath at his hip. Akaashi takes it from him before he can offer it, and turns to Kuroo’s leg. Kenma winces, as Akaashi breaks off the shaft of the arrow and then pours the whiskey over the blade of the knife. He sets the point against Kuroo’s skin, hesitating. Setting down the knife, he pulls off his jacket, setting the leather sleeve against Kuroo’s mouth.

“Please bite down on this, Kuroo-san,” he says. “I’m afraid this is going to hurt.”

Kuroo nods, gripping the material between his teeth, and Akaashi returns to the arrow. As he makes the first incision near the wound, Kuroo grunts and his body spasms with the pain.

“Bokuto-san! Hold him still,” Akaashi snaps.

Bokuto is pale, but he moves to stand beside the table, placing his back to Akaashi and leaning over Kuroo. He places his hands on Kuroo’s arms, pressing his own body down against Kuroo’s and setting his forehead against Kuroo’s shoulder.

“You’re okay, man, you’re okay,” he says, though his voice breaks as Akaashi begins to cut into Kuroo’s skin again, and Kuroo reacts with a muffled shout.

Kenma’s stomach feels queasy. He drops into a crouch, covering his ears with his hands, and shutting his eyes tightly. He can’t completely block out the sounds of Kuroo in pain, but he concentrates on silence anyway, encasing himself in a dark bubble as best he can. He envisions that stream he and Kuroo found on their way back to Nekoma from Shiratorizawa, the feel of the cool water running over his fingertips, the curious mouths of the fish nibbling at his skin. He can hear the rushing of it in his ears, and he remembers the flustered way Kuroo had spun around when Kenma looked up and smiled at him.

He’s not sure how long he sits there, but when he feels the soft brush of a hand against his shoulder, Kenma looks up into Akaashi’s tired face.

“It’s over,” he tells him. “Bokuto-san and the innkeeper are taking him to a room to rest. I cleaned and stitched the wound as best I could, but I’m not a doctor.” He purses his lips, and Kenma notices how pale he looks.

Slowly, he stands, some of his anxiety easing. “Can I see him?” he asks quietly, not sure if it would be better for Kuroo to rest or not.

But Akaashi nods and gestures for Kenma to follow him. He leads the way out of the room, heading up a flight of stairs to the second floor and then to the third door on the right. Inside, Bokuto is seated beside the bed where Kuroo lies, apparently asleep, swathed in blankets. Bokuto looks up as the two enter, and Akaashi beckons to him.

“We need to purchase more supplies. Bokuto-san, please join me.”

Bokuto hesitates, looking back at Kuroo’s still face. “But—”

“Bokuto-san.”

Sighing, Bokuto stands, crossing over to the door. He pats Kenma’s shoulder absently, as he passes, and Kenma stops himself from leaning away from the touch. Once he’s alone in the room with Kuroo, however, he feels that twisting feeling from before enter his stomach. Biting his lip though it stings, he approaches the bed. Kuroo’s breathing is even, which he supposes is a good sign. Still, a pang of regret hits him as he realizes once more how helpless he’d been.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, though he knows Kuroo probably can’t hear him.

Not sure what to do, Kenma lifts the blankets covering Kuroo and slides into the bed beside him. It’s warm, and Kenma feels the tightness in his chest begin to alleviate, as he presses in close to Kuroo’s side. It reminds him of the nights they spent together in Kuroo’s village. He’d felt safe there, and he misses the simplicity of that time, the way he felt at home and at peace for the first time in his life.

While Kuroo continues to sleep, Kenma pulls out his scrying glass. Moving his hand over it and muttering the incantation, he watches the surface ripple until the picture becomes clear. He sees the inside of Shouyou’s room, his four-poster bed with the orange and black canopy, the roaring fire, the piles of books scattered about along with various jars filled with odd things that Kenma supposes he uses for his potions and poultices.

“Shouyou?” he calls softly, not wanting to disturb Kuroo beside him.

He hears something in the background, a soft yelp, and then Shouyou trips into view, grabbing his scrying glass and looking back at Kenma.

“Kenma!” he exclaims. “What’s going on? We’re hearing reports that the Nekoma palace was attacked again! Are you okay?!”

“It was Kuroo,” Kenma says, sneaking a glance up at Kuroo’s face, but it’s as peaceful as before. Shifting his gaze back down to the glass, Kenma hunches over it slightly. “He came to rescue me from the palace.”

“Hah? But isn’t that dangerous? Won’t they come after you?” Shouyou asks, frantic worry written over his face.

“I’ll be fine.”

_As long as I’m with him, I’ll be fine._

“But still, if they find you, they could hurt you,” Shouyou says, tugging on his hair. “I don’t want anything bad to happen to you, Kenma-kun.”

Kenma fights a blush, but before he can reply, Kuroo stirs.

“That’s why we’re taking you to Karasuno to request sanctuary.”

Kenma’s head lifts quickly, and he finds himself looking up at Kuroo, who’s propped himself up on one elbow and is looking back at him with a small, crooked smile.

“Hey.”

Kenma swallows hard.

“Kenma? Who is that? Is that Kuroo?” Shouyou calls, shifting in the glass, trying to see past Kenma.

“You’re taking me to Karasuno?” Kenma asks, his heart pounding faster at the prospect, as Kuroo nods, his smile widening.

_Karasuno. Shouyou._

Oh. Right. Shouyou.

Kenma glances back down at the glass, lifting it then so both Kuroo and Shouyou can see the other.

“Hi! I’m Hinata Shouyou,” Shouyou introduces himself with a wave.

Kuroo waves back lazily. “Yo.” As Kenma watches his face though, he notices the sweat glistening at his temples and wonders if he’s in pain.

“Shouyou, I’ll call on you later,” Kenma says, quickly passing his hand over the glass before his friend can protest. He slides the now blank glass back into his coat pocket, before sitting up. “Akaashi and Bokuto left to get more supplies, but I can get the innkeeper if you’re in pain. He might be able to make you something for it.”

He pushes back the covers to leave the bed, but Kuroo grabs his arm, keeping him in place. Kenma freezes automatically, looking down at the hand on his arm, instead of Kuroo’s face. He can feel the blood rushing to his face, and he’s grateful for the curtain of hair that hides him from Kuroo’s gaze.

“It doesn’t hurt that much,” Kuroo says. “Don’t go.”

Kenma pulls his knees up to his chest, wrapping his free arm around them. He stays like that, even as he feels the bed move as Kuroo sits up completely with a soft grunt. Closing his eyes, Kenma sets his chin on his knees, not sure why he feels so nervous. He’d grown comfortable around Kuroo’s presence while they lived together, but now everything seems different and new.

He wonders if this strange anxiety has anything to do with the kiss they shared right before the king’s men took Kenma away. But that had been months ago. Does Kuroo even remember it? Does he think about it as often as Kenma does?

Kuroo releases Kenma’s arm and runs his fingers through his hair instead, his touch warm and tender, as it brushes strands of black behind Kenma’s ear to reveal his profile. Kenma’s ears feel hot, as he feels Kuroo’s fingertips linger on the one, before falling away.

“Did you watch me with that glass?” he asks, and Kenma can hear the grin in his voice.

The heat of his cheeks intensify, and Kenma tilts his head further down, pressing his lips against his knees, as he shakes his head. He’d been too afraid to check in on Kuroo during their months apart. He worried that he’d find Kuroo going about his days normally, without a thought to Kenma. He realizes now how unfounded that fear was, but in the moment it had prevented him from muttering the spell, from looking upon Kuroo even though he’d sorely wanted to.

“Oh.” The disappointment is evident in Kuroo’s tone, and Kenma curls into himself tighter. “Well,” Kuroo continues, his voice light. “If you had, you would’ve seen me missing you and thinking about you all the time. Thinking about that kiss . . .”

Kenma ducks his head, now completely burying his face in his knees, as his entire body burns, the skin of his cheeks tingling. “Please stop,” he complains.

Kuroo laughs quietly, and Kenma feels the warmth of his hand against his back, moving in small, gentle circles. “I’m sorry it took so long for me to get to you,” he says after a moment, his voice serious. “It took a lot of planning and a lot of convincing Akaashi to join. He works as tailor in town, but he used to be a hunter, before the sheriff made hunting illegal.”

Kenma can hear the frown in his voice, and he turns his head slightly to peer back at Kuroo. He’s staring off at the wall, brows furrowed. Kenma realizes with a start that by coming after him and bringing Bokuto and Akaashi with him, he’s left his village without their main provider. Guilt squirms in his stomach, but Kenma isn’t sure if he should apologize or not. Kuroo made his choice, as did Bokuto and Akaashi. Surely they wouldn’t have done that without careful thought as to what they were committing.

Instead of apologizing, Kenma decides to try and cheer him up instead. Ignoring his burning ears and face, he turns and climbs into Kuroo’s lap, straddling it. Kuroo starts in surprise, leaning back against the wall, his normally hooded gaze widening so Kenma can see the gold of his irises. They’re similar to his own, if somewhat darker.

“K-Kenma?”

Kenma leans forward, making sure he’s putting his weight on his knees and not Kuroo’s thighs. He sets his forehead against Kuroo’s, pausing to gather courage, before he kisses him. He starts with a light touch, just in case Kuroo doesn’t want it, but Kuroo’s arms wrap around him and pull him flush against his chest. Kenma responds with a murmur, able to feel the heat of him, the rapid beat of his heart. He tilts his head to get a better angle, sliding his lips more firmly against Kuroo’s, allowing them to part. His teeth catch against Kuroo’s bottom lip, and he scrapes against it gently. Kuroo responds with a low moan, his hands pressing against Kenma’s back, fingers spread against the rough wool of the coat.

Kenma moves his own hands, snaking his arms around Kuroo’s neck, threading his fingers through the crazy black hair at the back of Kuroo’s head. Kuroo’s mouth opens further, bathing Kenma’s cheek in damp warmth, as his tongue prods gently against Kenma’s top lip, attempting to nudge it out of the way. Kenma complies, pulling his teeth back and allowing Kuroo to enter him, pressing his own tongue against the wet softness of Kuroo’s.

He can feel his body starting to tremble, but too soon Kuroo is pulling back. He leans his head against the wall, staring at Kenma with half-lidded eyes. He grimaces then, and shifts underneath Kenma. “Kenma . . . my leg . . .”

Kenma blinks, and then quickly gets off Kuroo, his face on fire. He turns away, sitting on the edge of the bed with his back to Kuroo, bringing his shoulders up to his ears.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, closing his eyes tightly. “I just . . . I wanted to make you feel better . . .” 

He should’ve known he’d fail at that too. The only thing he’s good for is knocking out enemies and other things intended for battle. That’s his purpose, the reason why he was created. He was never prepared for human interactions such as this. He was never told what he should do if he likes someone, or wants to make someone happy or feel good about themselves.

“Hey, you did make me feel better. That felt amazing,” Kuroo says gently, his hand touching Kenma’s shoulder lightly. “I just . . . maybe don’t sit on my lap when you kiss me. At least not until my thigh is better.”

Kenma glances over his shoulder, and Kuroo grins at him, that crooked smile that sends butterflies into Kenma’s stomach. Before he can contemplate moving over to kiss him again, Akaashi and Bokuto enter the room carrying sacks in either hand. They set them by door, and Bokuto rushes over grab Kuroo’s shoulders.

“Tetsu!” he cries, searching his face. Kenma moves out of the way, standing and walking over to stand beside Akaashi. “Are you feeling better? Are you in pain? You’re probably in a lot of pain, huh? I’ll get you something!”

Before Kuroo can reply, Bokuto turns to Akaashi. “Akaashi! Where’s that potion you bought? The one you said could dull pain?”

Akaashi silently reaches into one of the sacks, drawing out a vial the size of his index finger. He unstops it and walks over to the bed, gently nudging Bokuto to the side.

“This will help, Kuroo-san,” Akaashi says quietly, setting the vial to Kuroo’s lips and gently tilting his head back with his other hand so a few drops slide into his mouth.

“Thanks, Akaashi,” Kuroo says once he’s swallowed, a smile twitching his lips.

Akaashi nods and turns away, as Bokuto returns to Kuroo’s side. Akaashi sets the vial on the small table by the bed, before returning to the sacks. He draws out a jar of what looks like white paste, along with a long, wool dress. Kenma has a feeling he knows what these are for, and his suspicions are confirmed when Akaashi holds them up for Kuroo to see.

“I got you to the things you requested before,” he says. “For Kenma-san.”

Bokuto stifles a laugh. “That’s why we got a dress? For Kenma?” He turns to Kuroo with a smirk. “Tetsu, you pervert.”

Kuroo’s face reddens. “It’s not like that!” he snaps. “I just . . . I thought it’d be good to disguise him. Everyone is going to be looking for him so . . .” He shakes his head then, glancing warily at Kenma. “You don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to.”

Kenma steps forward to inspect the dress. It’s a deep red and simple, with long sleeves and made of heavy material that would easily keep him warm as they traveled in the cold of winter. It looks as though it was made for a young girl, but he doesn’t take offense to that, knowing he’s short and has a slight frame.

“I’ll wear it,” he says then, looking up at Akaashi.

Akaashi nods, and then holds up the jar. “This is for your hair. The paste will draw the color out of it. It’ll make you less conspicuous. Your eyes and the paleness of your skin won’t stand out as much.”

Kenma reaches up to touch a strand of his black hair, thinking it’d be welcome to blend in more easily. “Okay,” he says with a nod.

A couple hours later finds Kenma standing in front of the mirror in the room, studying his reflection. His hair is now a soft golden color, a couple shades lighter than the amber of his eyes. Akaashi was right. It does fit the white of his skin better, and his eyes don’t look as startling either.

When he turns around, he sees the other three staring at him. Akaashi looks satisfied with his work, Bokuto is grinning fondly like he’s seeing something adorable, and Kuroo’s cheeks are flushed. He clears his throat and gives Kenma a thumbs up.

“It looks good,” he says, before scooting down the bed and pulling the blankets up over his chest. “We should get some rest. We have a long journey ahead of us.”

Akaashi agrees, and he tugs Bokuto’s sleeve gently. “I got us a room next door,” he says, giving the room with the single bed a pointed look.

“I get to share a bed with you?!” Bokuto asks excitedly.

Akaashi looks taken aback, and Kenma notices the way his ears and neck begin to redden. “I . . . just to sleep,” he says, and his voice sounds strained.

Bokuto is still beaming, though, as he follows Akaashi out of the room. Kenma waits until the door is closed before he goes to the bed. Kuroo moves over to give him room, and Kenma climbs under the covers, tucking his head beneath Kuroo’s chin the way he used to. Kuroo’s arm comes down around his shoulders, and he rubs his jaw against the top of Kenma’s head gently.

“I like the new hair,” he says, and Kenma can hear his smile. “It’s cute.”

Kenma resists the urge to punch the stomach of an injured man, instead closing his eyes. “Go to sleep.”

Kuroo chuckles quietly, but before long they’re both drifting to sleep.

  

Kenma wakes in the middle of the night with the feeling that something is terribly wrong. He feels Kuroo trembling beside him, and his clothes are damp with sweat. Kenma sits up quickly, and presses his hand against Kuroo’s forehead. It’s hot beneath his touch. Pulling his hand away, Kenma scrambles off the bed, hurrying toward the door.

He bursts into the room next door with a shout. “Something’s wrong with Kuroo!”

The two instantly awaken, and within the span of two minutes are running with him back into the first room, where Kuroo lies twitching and now moaning softly in pain. Akaashi pulls aside the blankets, kneeling beside the bed to carefully peel away the bandages around Kuroo’s thigh. A rancid smell assaults their nostrils, and Bokuto turns away, gagging. Kenma can only stare at the blackened skin surrounding Akaashi’s careful stitches.

“Dammit,” Akaashi hisses, frowning. “The arrow must’ve been poisoned somehow. I know I cleaned it correctly to prevent infection . . .”

At the word ‘poisoned,’ Kenma feels his gut clench. He pulls the lapels of his coat closer over his chest, shrinking back against the wall. When had the Nekoma sentries begun poisoning their arrows? Was that a new tactic the king implemented while he was away?

“Akaashi? Is he going to die?” Bokuto asks, his voice hoarse.

“I don’t know,” Akaashi admits, his lips pulled into a tight line. “He probably will if we can’t find a way to heal this. But like I said, I’m not a doctor. And we can’t risk going back into the city. I’m not sure if he can last until we get to Karasuno either.”

“So he _is_ going to die?!” Bokuto wails, his face twisting into an expression wrought with despair. Tears spring into his eyes, slipping down his cheeks.

Akaashi remains where he is, shoulders bent. “I-I . . . I might be able to stave it off, if I have the right supplies,” he says quietly. “But it won’t be enough to heal him completely.”

Kenma’s heart thuds in his throat. He knows of someone who could help, but if Kuroo can’t make the journey . . . would he have to go by himself? Did he have the strength to complete such a task?

_That doesn’t matter. He saved my life. I have to save his. I can’t lose him again._

“Shouyou can heal him,” he says, stepping forward. His voice is calm, despite the storm raging within him. It’s a mask he’s practiced for years, and he’s glad he doesn’t have to worry about breaking down at this inopportune moment. His fingers betray him with a tremble, so he clutches his coat tighter. “I can go and bring him back here.”

“Shouyou?! Who’s Shouyou?!” Bokuto asks, whirling around to stare down at Kenma.

Kenma takes an automatic step back, unnerved by the intensity in Bokuto’s eyes. “My friend. He’s studying to be a magician. He knows healing poultices and spells . . .”

“Let’s go! Right now!” Bokuto exclaims, rushing toward the door.

Akaashi stands swiftly and moves to grab his arm. “Bokuto-san,” he says firmly. “I agree you should go, but you need to remember to take the supplies.”

The three of them turn toward the bed, as Kuroo murmurs something indistinct under his breath. His chest is heaving, sweat flattening his usually unkempt hair. Kenma’s stomach twists once more, and he steps forward to take Kuroo’s hand. He gives it a faint squeeze. As Akaashi helps Bokuto pack things for their journey, Kenma continues to stand by the bed, running his thumb over the back of Kuroo’s knuckles.

_I won’t let you down. I promise._

Bending, Kenma places a small kiss on Kuroo’s lips. His skin burns against Kenma’s, and as he leans back, Kenma feels his eyes prickling. Bokuto has calmed enough to listen to Akaashi’s instructions on how to say safe while traveling, but Kenma hears his voice like a distant buzzing in his ear. He continues to stare into Kuroo’s face, its color a yellowish pallor beneath the flush of his cheeks.

Kenma has magic; he’s infused with it. So why can’t he heal Kuroo himself? Does he have the capacity? Would he know art of healing if the sorcerer who created him had shown him how to heal instead of how to destroy? Frustration at his own inadequacy boils within him, and when Kenma feels a soft touch to his shoulder, he turns to glare at Akaashi with such ferocity that the man takes a small step back.

“I’m sorry, Kenma-san, but you need to change into the dress before you go.”

Kenma glances toward the dress, which had been placed over a chair earlier in the night. He shrugs out of his coat and shirt before grabbing the dress to pull on, keeping his pants on just in case he needs to change later on. Once he has the coat back on, he steps over to where Bokuto is lingering by the door, chewing on his lip and shooting worried glances between Kuroo and Akaashi.

“I won’t let him die before you get back,” Akaashi says solemnly, stepping up to Bokuto. His fingers reach out to touch Bokuto’s arm lightly, before falling away. He turns aside, but Kenma doesn’t miss the pain in his eyes.

“Akaashi,” Bokuto says then, reaching out to grab Akaashi’s hand to stop him. “I-I know you’ll take good care of Tetsu, but . . . take care of yourself too, okay?”

Akaashi smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Of course, Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto hesitates, his hand still clasping Akaashi’s, and they look at each other for a moment before Kenma’s impatience gets the better of him. He huffs and grabs Bokuto’s sleeve, tugging him toward the door. Reluctantly, Bokuto releases Akaashi and turns with Kenma to exit the room.

“Your friend will know how to save him, right?”

Kenma nods, pushing away the doubt that whispers in his ear and reminds him that Shouyou isn’t a full wizard yet and it could very well be that he wouldn’t be able to help them at all.

 

Bokuto is uncharacteristically silent as they drive the cart down the road toward the lightening sky on the horizon. It snowed at some point during the night, and the fresh whiteness glistens with hues of orange and pink to match the clouds above, as the sun begins to rise. It seems as though the entire world is asleep around them, the quiet stillness of the air is only broken by the crunching footfalls of the horses and the occasional song of a bird waking in its nest.

Kenma sits, tense, his scrying glass balanced on his knees. Beside him, Bokuto holds the reins and flicks them every once in a while to urge the horses faster. But with the roads still covered with snow and ice, they can’t risk one of the horses slipping or a wheel of their cart getting caught in a rut they cannot see.

Hours pass in this tense atmosphere, and finally Bokuto cracks.

“Fuck!” he shouts, startling the birds in the trees they’re passing.

They flap off into the sky, as Kenma flinches, watching Bokuto warily, as he glares at the road ahead. “This is all my fault!” he continues, grinding his teeth. “If I hadn’t slowed down at the gate, we would’ve made it through without anyone getting hurt!”

Kenma turns to look down at his scrying glass, not sure whom he wants to see more: Shouyou or Kuroo.

“You don’t know for that for sure, though,” he says quietly, once he realizes Bokuto is waiting for a response.

Bokuto stews over that in silence, and the journey continues. They don’t encounter many people on the road, and to save money and time, the two begin to switch off driving the horses while the other sleeps, continuing throughout the night. They only stop to give the horses rest, and when they do, Bokuto spends his time throwing his knives at trees. Whenever he hits the target particularly well, he whips his head around as if expecting someone to praise him.

His eyes only find Kenma though, who stares back at him blankly, and then his shoulders slump. Once Kenma figures out what he’s looking for, however, he applauds gently each time Bokuto lifts his head after a good throw. Eventually, Bokuto begins to smile at the applause, and before they begin down the road again, he’s bowing with great flourishes.

Things grow less tense after that, as Bokuto brightens enough to fill the silence with idle chatter. He mostly boasts about his accomplishments or talks about Akaashi’s “amazing qualities,” but Kenma doesn’t mind. After a while, he manages to get Bokuto to talk about Kuroo as well, and he listens with more interest as Bokuto tells him stories of their childhood together, growing up in that small village on the outskirts of Nekoma.

“He’s always been really good at stealing stuff,” Bokuto says. “He can walk silently on his feet and has amazing reflexes. We started pickpocketing when we were pretty young. I mean, we’re both orphans so what else could we do, right? It was always so much fun though. I would be the look out because I could always tell when someone was about to look our way and could warn Tetsu. When we got older though, he started wanting to share our stash with others in the village. I guess he finally realized how bad it was for everyone. He’s a really great guy like that, you know?”

Kenma listens to all the stories quietly, filing away the information like jewels in a treasure chest. He learns about how Kuroo would help the older ladies in the village do their laundry, not even asking for a penny. They would usually give him lunch or dinner though. And although Kuroo never went to school, Bokuto tells Kenma how he taught himself to read anyway, because he told Bokuto that you never knew when such a skill would become handy later on.

And he tells a story of how Bokuto had wanted a puppy for his birthday and Kuroo scoured the village for one, surprising Bokuto with a tiny stray that evening. Unfortunately the poor thing grew ill and died a few days later and Bokuto had been devastated. But Kuroo stayed by his side and held him as he cried.

“He really is the best friend anyone could ask for,” Bokuto muses aloud after that one.

Kenma has to agree, taking what he knows of Kuroo personally and then what he’s learned from Bokuto’s stories. He can’t help but wonder what it would’ve been like to grow up with someone like Kuroo. On the one hand it sounds exhausting, if he takes into account all the crazy antics Bokuto admits the two got into (running from the sheriff’s men for pickpocketing the tourists that came through, escaping from the holding cells of the village jail more than once, stealing a goat from a nearby village for a neighbor who’s only goat had just died, etc.). But on the other hand, the stories just bring to light over and over how _good_ a person Kuroo is.

_I can’t let him die._

Every once in a while, Kenma ventures a glance into his scrying glass to check on Kuroo and Akaashi. The scene rarely changes. Akaashi remains by Kuroo’s bedside, sometimes redressing his wound, sometimes attempting to make him eat or drink something, sometimes simply dozing in a chair. Often Bokuto will lean over Kenma’s shoulder to watch the scene, and every time he does, he’ll sigh and mention how attentive and kind Akaashi is. Kenma wonders if Bokuto has told Akaashi how he feels about him, but doesn’t ask, not sure what he’d say if Bokuto asks him for advice.

He hasn’t worked up the nerve to tell Kuroo himself, though he isn’t entirely sure how to even begin to describe the feelings Kuroo Tetsurou manifests in him.

He does call on Shouyou though, once he knows they’re getting close to Karasuno. The glass shimmers and then there he is, orange-brown eyes wide, as he leans close to the glass.

“Kenma? What happened to your hair?”

“Oh.” Kenma reaches up to touch the strands that brush his cheek, having forgotten their golden state. He pinches a couple between his fingers, lifting them in front of his eyes to inspect them. “I changed it.”

“And . . . are you wearing a dress?” Shouyou’s face fills the glass, as he leans in closer.

Kenma feels his cheeks warm, and he looks away. “It’s so knights from the palace won’t recognize me.”

“Oh! That’s smart. I hear they’re looking all over for you. Where’s Kuroo? You cut us off before we could really introduce ourselves!”

Kenma swallows hard, biting his lip, as he turns his gaze back to Shouyou’s face. He’s leaned back and is now watching Kenma, concern evident in his large eyes.

“He was wounded when rescuing me,” Kenma admits quietly. “And he’s been poisoned. I-I . . . I need your help to heal him.”

Shouyou squeaks. “ _My_ help? Really? You want _my_ help?”

Kenma nods. “Will you help me?”

Shouyou nods quickly. “Of course I will. How close are you?”

Kenma glances up at Bokuto, who glances sidelong at him. “A couple days until we reach the border,” he says. “And then two more to reach the palace, I’m pretty sure. But if he can meet us at the border, that’ll save time.”

Kenma turns back to Shouyou, who’s nodding slowly. “Okay, I think I can make that work. Do you know what type of poison it was?”

Kenma shakes his head. “The skin around the wound was black though, and it smelled really terrible. And he has a really bad fever.”

Shouyou nods absently. “Okay, okay, I’ll get together some stuff, but I’ll bring my spell book just in case it’s something magical. Don’t worry, Kenma. We’ll make him better!”

Kenma bites his lip and nods, doing his best to hold onto Shouyou’s optimism.

“Oh hey, Kenma,” Shouyou then says, and there’s a shyness to his tone that Kenma isn’t used to hearing. The tips of his ears begin to burn even before Shouyou speaks again. “It’s going to be really great to see you in person finally. I can’t wait.” He grins, a sparkling grin full of sunlight, and Kenma’s mouth feels dry.

“I-I’ll see you in two days,” he says, looking away as he runs his hand over the glass and turns it blank once more.

“Do you like him?” Bokuto asks, apparently not having missed Kenma’s flustered state.

“What? No. I don’t know,” Kenma says quickly, feeling the heat spreading to his neck.

Bokuto frowns faintly. “Wait, what about Tetsu then?”

“I-I don’t know,” Kenma says honestly, because his stomach twists nearly the same way at the thought of Kuroo.

He feels nauseous and turns away, staring off at the trees and trying not to overthink things. He’s never had to deal with his feelings for Shouyou before, and he’d begun to doubt he’d need to for Kuroo either. His master, the sorcerer who created him, never taught Kenma about love, so he isn’t sure about what he feels. If he can even call it love in the first place or just a feeling of possessiveness that tells him to keep Shouyou and Kuroo close, because they’re the only things he’s ever had for himself. They’re the only things that have ever been his and his alone.

“He really likes you, you know. Like, he really cares about you a lot,” Bokuto offers, and Kenma knows he’s trying to be helpful, but really he doesn’t want to talk about it.

At Kenma’s pointed silence, Bokuto changes the subject.

 

In person, Shouyou is as much a ray of sunshine as he is in the scrying glass, and Kenma feels his heart starting to stutter pathetically when he sees the boy standing just outside the border of Karasuno, waving his hand above his head. He’s shorter than Kenma imagined him to be, though he knew the young man wasn’t tall. And when he hops down from the cart to greet him, Kenma finds that Shouyou stands a couple centimeters shorter than him.

“Kenma!” Shouyou says excitedly, and immediately wraps his arms around him in a hug.

Kenma stiffens at first, not having expected it. But it only takes a second for him to relax into Shouyou’s comforting touch, and he soon finds himself clinging to his friend. All the emotions he’d been suppressing deep inside ever since Kuroo flung himself over Kenma to protect him from the arrows come to the surface, and tears slip from his eyes to wet Shouyou’s vest.

“Kenma?!” Shouyou says frantically, patting Kenma’s back quickly. “Are you okay?”

Kenma shakes his head, because he knows he’s not. His chest aches, and although Shouyou smells soothingly of smoke from his fireplace and pine and fresh linen, he finds himself loosing control the longer he’s held.

“It’s my fault,” he hiccups softly. “He-he came for me and he got hurt. He’s dying because of me.”

He feels his legs give out, but Shouyou keeps a tight grip on him, sinking to the ground with him to continue holding him. He strokes his hair gently, the fingers of his other hand curling into the back of Kenma’s coat.

“Shh, it’s okay, Kenma. I’m going to make him better. Everything’s going to be okay.”

Kenma trembles, because he’s not at all confident about that. Would they even be able to make it back in time? It’s taken them three weeks to get to Karasuno, and each look in the scrying glass reveals Kuroo looking worse off than before. And the thing that frightens Kenma the most is that he _knew_ Kuroo would have to risk his life to rescue him and yet wanted him to come anyway. He yearned for freedom so badly that he didn’t care about the possible consequences.

_Did my selfishness cause this to happen? Should I have stayed in the palace? Is that where I belonged?_

He knows he can’t sit there and wallow, though. Every second they waste is another second Kuroo is dying. So he sits back and uses the back of his sleeve to wipe at his face. Shouyou is watching him closely, concern etched over his features, and Bokuto is trying to pretend he’s not watching from the cart.

“Kenma?” Shouyou says again softly.

Kenma stands quickly. “We should go,” he says, carefully arranging his tone into its regular calm, as he turns toward the cart.

Shouyou catches his hand, lacing his fingers through his and giving them a squeeze. Kenma looks down at it, noting the warmth of it, how neatly Shouyou’s hand fits in his, and feels that warmth tingle up his arm. He thinks of Kuroo then, dying miles away because of him, and pulls his hand away under the guise of climbing up into the cart.

  

It seems to take a lot less time traveling back than it did traveling forward. Or maybe the horses sense their urgency and work harder to get them back to Kuroo and Akaashi. Either way, Kenma is grateful for the speed, though he still spends most of his time seated in the back of the cart, leaning against Shouyou, as anxiety curls through his chest, squeezing his lungs and piercing his heart.

Whenever he feels his breaths growing too quick, he reaches out for Shouyou’s hand instinctively. Shouyou is always there, grabbing hold of him and squeezing tightly to reassure Kenma, until he feels his heartbeats slow to a normal pace. Kenma feels somewhat guilty for using Shouyou in this way, for using him at all, and he wonders if he’s being selfish again. 

_No, it’s not selfish to save someone’s life. Not if they want to live_.

And he’s positive that Kuroo wants to live.

 

Akaashi looks exhausted, as he opens the door of the room and allows them inside. His lips tilt upward just slightly when he sees Bokuto, but they don’t waste time with greetings or introductions. Kenma pulls Shouyou over to Kuroo immediately, inhaling sharply when he sees up close how badly the poison has spread.

Kuroo’s veins look black beneath his pale skin, and his lips have turned purple, dark veins spreading out from them, down his neck. Kenma doesn’t want to know if those veins look the same beneath his clothes, though he’s fairly certain they do. He feels sick, but he forces himself to pick up Kuroo’s hand and give it a squeeze. The man doesn’t respond. His breathing is weak, and his cheeks are still flushed with fever.

“I’ve been feeding him an herbal tea that’s seemed to have staved off the poison,” Akaashi says wearily, leaning his hands against the back of a chair. “But this is unlike anything I’ve seen before. The innkeeper brought in a doctor a couple weeks ago and he said the same thing. It’s some sort of curse. Magic.”

Kenma looks to Shouyou, desperate. His friend’s tongue is poking out of the side of his mouth, as he frowns down at Kuroo in concentration. Kenma finds himself holding his breath, until Shouyou suddenly slaps his cheeks and nods.

“Okay! I think I know what this is. It’s a simple spell to cure it, but I’ve never seen the poison spread this far before. I might . . . need to borrow someone’s life force.” He winces then, rubbing the back of his neck. “Um, borrowed isn’t a good word. I’ll be taking it, really. I mean, I could use my own, but that’d weaken me and I’m not sure—”

“Use mine,” Kenma says immediately, not allowing him to finish.

Shouyou starts, turning to look at him with wide eyes. “Are-are you sure?”

Kenma nods. “I can conjure my magic. That should boost your strength, right? And you can use the energy off it as well. It’ll make your magic more powerful.”

Shouyou looks like he’s about to protest further, so Kenma draws his crystal out of his coat pocket and holds it in his fist, reaching out to take Shouyou’s hand with his other. Closing his eyes, he brings the crystal to his mouth, pulling the magic from his core the way his master taught him. He breathes it into the crystal, allowing the stone to channel the energy. He doesn’t expand it though, but keeps it contained, drawing it inward. He feels the heat of it crackle against his skin, causing the hairs on his arms to stand on end.

His hair whips around his face, shooting upward as well, as he both pushes out and draws in the magic, sending it down his arm to Shouyou’s hand. He feels it twitch in his grasp and slowly he opens his eyes. Shouyou has his free hand stretched over Kuroo’s chest, his lips moving quickly with a muttered incantation. The room is bathed in golden light that Kenma registers is emanating from his own body. He regulates his breathing, knowing that a tiny hitch could cause him to lose control and that could result in an explosion that would bring down the entire building.

Still, he watches avidly, gaze fixed upon Kuroo’s still form, as wisps of black smoke begin to rise from his skin as though being dragged out by their tips. They dissipate into the air as they escape, and slowly the color begins to return to Kuroo’s face, the inky blackness of his veins fading to a pale blue.

Kenma isn’t sure how long they stand there, Shouyou murmuring, Kenma’s magic surrounding the both of them and Kuroo, but finally Shouyou drops his hand and turns to Kenma. “You can stop now,” he says, and Kenma hears him as though from far away. He inhales deeply, doing his best to rein in the powerful aura that’s still seeping from his fingers, from the crystal in his hand, from the tips of his hair. He finds himself struggling, the magic wanting to be released fully, in the great blast that it’s used to.

Kenma steps away from Shouyou, doubling over the crystal in his fist. If he can let it out but absorb the impact, perhaps it won’t harm anyone else. He hears Shouyou shout his name, but he closes his eyes and blocks it out, slowly relinquishing his tentative grasp on his magic.

He feels it like a punch to his stomach, and it knocks him backwards, all the air in his lungs rushing out in a great _huff_. He lands hard against the floor, and the room spins. There are shouts from above him, but he can’t distinguish voices or words past the ringing in his ears. He’s aware of a warm sticky liquid seeping from his nose, and he can taste blood through his parted lips. It tastes sharp and metallic, and the ringing grows louder, as spots appear before his eyes. They grow larger and begin to merge, until he’s engulfed in blackness.

  

When Kenma opens his eyes again, he’s in an unfamiliar room. There’s a bright light shining through the window, which he’s unaccustomed to in the dark of his basement room. He blinks against it, sitting up slowly. A sharp pain in his head causes him to fall back, and he presses his hand to his forehead, hissing sharply.

“Mori? Lev? What’s going on? Why is my room so bright?” he asks weakly.

“Kenma!” Shouyou’s voice shouts close to his ear, and Kenma winces, leaning away from the abrupt noise. “You’re awake!”

“Shouyou?” Kenma lowers his hand, blinking, adjusting to the light. Shouyou’s face is swathed in shadows for a moment, before his features become clear. It’s then that Kenma remembers everything that happened: his rescue from the palace, Kuroo’s injury, his journey to Karasuno to find Shouyou, and then the healing process that ended in his falling unconscious.

“How long was I asleep?” he asks, sitting up again, this time more carefully. His headache still pounds a harsh rhythm against his skull, but it’s bearable now that he knows it’s there.

“A whole week,” Shouyou says, as though it were years instead of simply days. He throws his torso across Kenma’s legs dramatically. Kenma can’t help but smile faintly, and he reaches out to touch the ends of his vibrant hair lightly. Shouyou sits up quickly then, eyes shining.

“Oh! I need to tell the others that you’re awake! They went downstairs to get breakfast.”

The others.

Kuroo.

Kenma can feel his face and neck growing hot, but Shouyou hops away from the bed before he can protest. He knows he wants to see Kuroo, but at the same time his stomach squirms unpleasantly with an anxiety he can’t identify. He contemplates the pros and cons of simply sneaking out the window before Shouyou can come back, but before he can even push back the blankets covering him, the door bursts open once more. Kenma startles at the sudden noise and looks to see Kuroo standing in his doorway, grinning that crooked grin of his that causes Kenma’s heart to flutter weakly.

“Kenma! You’re awake!” he says, and he looks as healthy and strong as he did when Kenma first saw him in Shiratorizawa.

It seems as though he’s expecting Kenma to say something, but Kenma can’t think of any words that adequately describe how relieved he is to see Kuroo alive and well and how incredibly sorry he is that he caused Kuroo pain in the first place. So instead he simply swallows and stares, curling his fingers into the blankets and wishing he had the ability to shrink to a miniscule size so he can escape.

Kuroo steps into the room, grabbing the chair and pulling it up to Kenma’s bedside, slinging his leg over it to straddle it, arms crossed over the back, as he meets Kenma’s stare.

“You had us worried for a bit there,” he says, his grin fading to something more delicate, more tender.

Kenma’s tongue feels swollen and heavy. He blinks, tightening his grip on the blankets.

“Hey,” Kuroo says, and his voice is softer now. “I heard what you did for me. I . . . I’m not entirely sure how to properly thank you. But I heard you were amazing, and that doesn’t surprise me at all.” He tilts his head, setting his chin against his arms. His hair falls to the side, revealing both of his golden eyes, and Kenma feels as though his insides have turned to molten gold themselves.

He tears his gaze away, looking down at his knuckles. “Shouyou healed you,” he says finally. “I’m the one who got you hurt in the first place.”

“Hey,” Kuroo says again, and this time his tone is sharp with reprimand. “Don’t do that. Don’t blame yourself for any of that. I knew the risk when I came to get you, and I didn’t care. I wanted to get you out of that place. I wanted to give you the life you deserve, a life free of anyone trying to use you. A life you can call your own, where you can make your own happiness. And I would’ve gladly died to give you that. I mean, not that I _wanted_ to die, mind you, and I’m really glad I didn’t. But . . . I’m just saying.”

Kenma stares at his hands, as they grip and flex against the blankets slowly. He lifts his head to look over at Kuroo, and the man’s stern expression softens, another gentle smile tilting his lips.

“Are you ready to get out of here and start a new life in Karasuno?” he asks, and Kenma can only nod vigorously.

Kuroo laughs, pushing off the back of the chair to stand. He reaches over to ruffle Kenma’s hair, though his hand lingers a moment longer than such a gesture warrants. Kenma tilts his head back to look up at him, and catches a slight look of uncertainty in Kuroo’s eyes. He bites his lip, and Kenma waits for him to say what’s on his mind, but before he can, the door opens once more to reveal Bokuto, Akaashi, and Shouyou.

“Come on, Tetsu! Let’s go! The innkeeper said he’s going to have our heads if we stay another minute without paying,” Bokuto says, though he seems unconcerned by this threat.

Kenma notices that they’re all dressed for a long journey and glances over to see his dress hanging on the door of the wardrobe across the room.

“Are you feeling well enough to travel, Kenma-san?” Akaashi asks gently, stepping up to the bed and holding out his hand.

Kenma takes it with a nod, pulling himself up. The room spins briefly, but with Akaashi’s steady hand beneath his, he quickly finds his balance.

“You’re going to have to find more money pretty soon,” Shouyou says, as Akaashi helps Kenma change. “You’re going to need some to get past the border of Karasuno.”

“Really? Why?” Kuroo asks, turning to the small young man bouncing on his toes beside him.

Kenma pauses in pulling on the dress, glancing over.

Shouyou grins, his eyes sparkling mischievously. “Because of Karasuno’s Guardian Deity, of course!”

**Author's Note:**

> (I swear there will be actual Kuroken in the next one. I just . . . can't resist a good slow burn . . .)
> 
> http://shions-heart.tumblr.com/


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